The Christmas Carrolls

by Barbara Metzger

  “Well spoken, my boy, well spoken.” Lord Carroll was beaming, making sure everyone had a full cup of lamb’s-wool punch. “A toast, to this Christmas. May it be everyone’s merriest ever.”

  After more toasts to the wedding couples, to the earl and the countess, to the king and Lord Wellington, Evan jumped up. “I say, poor Max didn’t get to kiss any of the ladies! We can’t have that!” Before Max could tell him to stubble it, Evan had snagged a twig of mistletoe from the doorway and was holding it over Max’s red-haired and red-faced head. If he could have gotten out of his chair, he’d have turned tail and run.

  Ever the gracious hostess, Lady Carroll stepped forward to put him out of his embarrassed misery. “Merry Christmas, Sir Maxwell,” she said, touching him lightly on the forehead. At her nod, Joia and Holly each kissed his cheek. One of the Ellingsworth cousins dashed over and smacked him on the lips, to Evan’s glee. Max vowed to shoot the clunch and save the frogs the effort.

  Then Merry kissed him. On the mouth. He didn’t hear Evan’s snickers about tomboys, or the countess’s indrawn breath, or the duchess’s cluck of condemnation. He just heard Merry’s sigh. No Christmas carol ever sounded so sweet, no Yuletide aromas ever smelled as enticing as her flowered scent, no wassail ever tasted as delicious as her lips. “M-merry Christmas, Merry.”

  “It must be time for Sir Maxwell to return to his bed,” Lady Carroll declared. “He shouldn’t do too much his first day out. Craighton, will you assist Evan and Lieutenant Smythe? Bartholemew, please send the footman. Bartholemew? Now, where has he gone off to?”

  * * * *

  Max was duly restored to his chamber and assisted into his nightshirt, not regretting one whit that the party was continuing without him. He had his Christmas dream to cherish.

  He was almost asleep when he heard voices in the corridor outside that meant some of the others were seeking their beds. Then his door opened. “Yes?” he called. “Who is there?”

  “ ‘Tis I, Merry. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t overdone. Shall I mix you a dose of laudanum?”

  The candle she carried revealed her concern. It also revealed that she was already in her nightclothes. Her feet were bare. “L-lud, Merry. You hadn’t ought to be here.”

  She pointed to the dog at her side. “Downsy had to go out, so I thought I would check on you. I’m not staying or anything.”

  Downsy had other ideas. He’d been locked in Merry’s bedroom all evening with only a pair of slippers to chew on. He did not want to be herded back there or, worse, out to the stables. So he dove under the bed. Merry set the candle down and bent to coax him out, giving Max a charming posterior view. Downsy ran out the other side of the bed and around the room, enjoying himself hugely now that he’d gotten his mistress to chase him.

  “I’ve got you cornered now, you wretched beast.” She laughed, lunging at the big dog. Downsy leaped out of her grasp, onto the bed. Onto Max’s broken leg, in fact. He groaned.

  “Oh, Max, are you all right?” Merry reached over to remove the hairy menace, but misbalanced and landed on the bed herself. On Max’s chest, in fact. He groaned.

  “Oh, dear. I really am a catastrophe, aren’t I?”

  “You’re perfect, Merry-mine.” They were nose to nose, eye to eye. There was nothing for it but for Max to kiss her.

  Which was when Miss Almira Krupp went by in the corridor. Seeing the young man’s door open, she entered, to find the youngest daughter of the house, skirts above her knees, feet bare, in the embrace of a penniless soldier. She shrieked. Then she shrieked louder, so no one would wonder what she was doing headed to the duke’s chambers instead of the duchess’s.

  The earl came running from belowstairs with Rendell, pistol in hand. Joia and Holly and Comfort and the duke all poured into the corridor, with half the Ellingsworths and hordes of servants. Lady Carroll arrived and added her cry of dismay to the scene.

  Hearing the uproar, seeing the pistol, Max first thought to protect the treasure in his arms by throwing himself on top of her, as he would a fallen comrade. He had to be satisfied with holding her tighter, against his side.

  “I told you the chit was a harum-scarum hussy,” the Duchess of Carlisle announced from the foot of the bed, where she’d pushed her way through. “You’ll have to get her married off on the instant. Too bad the boy is such a commoner, but no one else will ever take her after this night.”

  “But they’re just children,” Lady Carroll moaned, clutching her husband’s arm.

  He was shaking his head. “No keeping this mum, not with the audience. I’m sorry, my love, they’ll have to be wed, and soon.”

  “How soon?” she cried.

  “Quickly, else she’ll be ruined for sure.”

  “I still have the special license,” Rendell volunteered. “Holly and I had time for the banns to be read, so we never needed it. Sir Max could join us other benedicts on Christmas day.”

  “No,” Lady Carroll wailed.

  Lord Carroll was rubbing his chin. “What do you think, Max?”

  “That I’d be the h-happiest of m-men if you g-gave me your d-d-daughter’s h-hand in—”

  Mary couldn’t wait She threw herself back onto his chest. “Oh, Max, me, too!”

  While Bartholemew went to fetch the champagne, horrified that he hadn’t been better prepared, everyone was laughing about how they were to get Max to the church and the ceremony, how Downsy would be best man, and how they were to keep Merry out of Max’s bedroom until then. One person wasn’t laughing. Lady Carroll was sobbing and beating her fists against her husband’s chest.

  Part Four

  Adeste Infidelis

  Chapter Twenty-two

  A hundred weddings of note might have taken place at Saint George’s, Hanover Square, that year, nay, a hundred and fifty. None was more memorable than the ceremony late that Christmas morning at little Saint Cecilia’s in Carrolton village. What other tonnish affair could boast three exquisite women, three exceptional gentlemen including an heir to a dukedom, a man of fortune, and a hero, and three magnificent, well-run weddings in one? Mothers of marriage-aged daughters were filled with admiration. Fathers of marriage-aged daughters were filled with awe. Surely the wedding day of the Earl of Carroll’s daughters would live on as a testament to good taste, good planning, and good luck. Pity the poor souls who weren’t invited, or who were obliged to spend the holidays among their own kin. They’d only hear at secondhand or read in every newspaper how stunning an occasion it was.

  The church was decorated in evergreens, white ribbons, and red roses from the length of England. Every conservatory and succession house in two counties was called on to contribute. The villagers and tenants lined the streets outside, all wearing their Sunday best, with sprigs of holly in their buttonholes or red ribbons in their hair. They cheered with sincere affection as Lady Carroll arrived, escorted by the Duke of Carlisle, and then the earl, in his streamer-strewn carriage, with his three daughters. Even the horses were decked out in ribbons and roses, and Jem Coachman, the footmen, and the outriders all had new green livery with red facings. The only one not matching was the tiny lad up next to the driver, in a too large coat and a knit cap pulled over his ears. Lady Carroll was already inside the church, however, so she didn’t notice, and no one else cared if the coachman chose to bring his grandson or whatever along. The boy would have a memory to last for a lifetime.

  So would Lord Carroll. The earl could scarce contain his happiness. This glorious day, in fact, was surpassed in his mind only by his own wedding, when he’d been too nervous to enjoy himself, too afraid that his Bess would change her mind at the last minute. But today he had nothing to worry about. All he had to do was smile—and hand his little girls into the keeping of strange men who would take them far away. He almost ordered Jem Coachman to turn the carriage around and return to Winterpark.

  No, all nestlings had to fly away. The men waiting at the church, no doubt as anxiously as he’d done, were decent fellows. They
weren’t entirely worthy of his angels, but they’d do. Comfort was a bit rakish, but Joia would see he toed the line. Rendell was a tad old for Holly, but she’d be a wealthy widow if he shuffled off too soon. The marriage settlements were more than generous, they were lavish. The earl had seen to that. And the youngster, Sir Max, had bottom. He’d had to be carried to the coach, then wheeled into the chapel in a Bath chair, but he insisted on standing on his own two legs, one splinted and in a cast, for the ceremony. So there he was, freckles more noticeable in his pale face, waiting with the others at the altar for the first glimpse of his bride. He’d have a long wait, Lord Carroll feared, hoping the boy wouldn’t keel over before Merry’s turn. Evan stood by, a grinning best man for both Max and his father, just in case.

  First the earl walked his eldest daughter down the aisle. Joia was dressed in white velvet and carried a bouquet of holly and red roses. Lord Carroll thought she was the most beautiful bride he’d ever seen, after her mother, of course. “I love you, precious,” he told her before placing her hand in the viscount’s. “I’ll always love you.”

  Gouty foot and all, he walked back down the aisle, to where Holly and Merry were waiting in the vestibule in Bartholomew’s capable care. Holly was wearing a dark red gown with a white lace overskirt, and she glowed. She was definitely the most beautiful bride in the world, after her mother. “Don’t stay away too long, poppet. I want to see my grandchildren at Rendell Hall.”

  Then it was back for Merry, who placed a quick kiss on the old butler’s lined cheek before placing her hand on her father’s arm. Merry was dressed in green velvet that matched her sparkling eyes, with the hastily added white lace train from her mother’s wedding gown. Was this his little tomboy in breeches? She was gorgeous, almost as beautiful as her mother had been. “I have big plans for that boy, mitten,” the earl told her as they walked toward her waiting groom, standing tall and proud in his dress uniform.

  “He’s a man, Papa,” Merry answered, “all the man I’ll ever want.”

  The earl swallowed past the lump in his throat. He hoped the clunch could say his vows sometime today so they could get home in time for the wedding breakfast and the ball later.

  Max’s I-dos were loud and clear, to everyone’s relief. Lord Carroll hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath, just as he hadn’t realized he’d been weeping until a tear rolled down his chin. His Bess was sniffling beside him throughout the entire ceremony. Bradford hoped she had her own handkerchief for once, because he needed his.

  The weddings concluded without a hitch. Max didn’t fall on his face, no one was blinded by the diamond Rendell placed on Holly’s finger, and the duke, standing as best man for his son, didn’t pinch any of the choir members. Afterward, they all got into gaily decorated carriages for the ride to Winterpark. Bess was wiping her eyes, so didn’t notice the extra passenger riding up with the driver.

  The breakfast was as lavish as one expected at Winterpark, and continued without pause straight into the ballroom. Another orchestra, another feast, was set up in the indoor riding arena for servants and tenants, with the brides and grooms eating, drinking, and dancing at both parties. Then they were off, all of them.

  Comfort and Joia were going to Austria on a diplomatic mission. Holly and Rendell on business, and Merry and Max simply on honeymoon. Everyone thought that would be best, so there would be less unpleasant speculation about Merry’s hurried wedding. Max couldn’t do anything about his farm until spring, anyway, until his leg healed. Lord Carroll was sure a broken leg wouldn’t interfere with the boy’s enjoyment of Rendell’s yacht or Comfort’s leased chalet—or his new bride.

  All in all, Lord Carroll was more than content as he shook the last guest’s hand and shared a final toast with his butler. Of course, he’d prefer his girls closer, but they’d be back, perhaps with children of their own. And they’d be well cherished, he knew, by the men they loved. What more could a father want for his little girls? The earl would be thoroughly delighted now, if only Bess weren’t so distraught.

  * * * *

  “What’s wrong, my love? Are you still missing the girls?” The earl pulled his wife closer to him on the sofa in their sitting room. He’d been busier than ever, overseeing the shipping of Comfort’s horses and the renovations at Rendell Hall. Bess was still wandering aimlessly around Winterpark. Lord Carroll was worried. “It’s been a month and we get letters from one or t’other nearly every day. Did Merry ever have a governess, by the way? I recall paying an exorbitant salary to some nondescript woman with a bun, but you’d never know it from mitten’s spelling.”

  “Of course she did, Bradford, all of my daughters were well educated. But you kept letting Meredyth escape the schoolroom to follow you about Winterpark like a puppy, so you have no one to blame but yourself.”

  “Speaking of that, you didn’t lose a daughter, you got rid of that impossible mutt. I don’t know what possessed the chit to drag a half-trained mongrel along with them.”

  “Perhaps your threatening to drown the dog if Downsy chewed another one of your gloves,” his wife answered with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and faded quickly.

  “Mitten knew I’d never harm the pup. I can’t tell from her latest letter whether he raised his leg on a Mongol prince or he raided the pantry for a leg of mutton. Then again, Holly’s letters are so interspersed with German, I need my old grammar books. I don’t know what I’ll do when she starts spouting Russian, from her new studies.”

  “You don’t think they’ll go there next, do you? It’s so far away.” Bess dabbed at her eyes.

  She seemed to be crying all the time, the earl fretted, stroking her shoulder. “Not so far away from where they are now, my love. But they promised to return for Christmas next year at Rendell Hall. And Joia’s news is good—in a clear hand, too—that Comfort thinks we’ll have peace at last.”

  “Praise heaven, it should be soon.”

  “Aye, then Joia and the viscount will be home, and they promised to make a nice long stay on their way to Ireland. The only one who will regret the end of war is young Rendell, and I’m sure he’ll find some rowdydow, now that he’s had a taste of battle.”

  “I never thought I’d miss him, but I do.”

  “You know, Bess, maybe we should go to London. Winterpark is too empty and you’re too sad. You could go shopping, take in the opera or the theater, visit some of your old friends.”

  “No one is there this time of year.”

  “Then what about Bath? Perhaps the waters will be good for my foot.”

  “You’ve refused to drink the nasty stuff every time we’ve gone. Besides, the Duchess of Carlisle is there, and we just got rid of the old harridan, Bradford. I don’t know if I could be civil through one more iteration of Meredyth’s fall from Her Grace’s grace.”

  Lord Carroll was determined to find something to bring his beloved out of the blue devils. “Then what say we go to Austria? Everyone is there, including our girls. They say it’s the most glittering assembly Europe has ever seen.”

  She raised hopeful eyes to his for a moment, then lowered her gaze to the handkerchief clenched in her hands. “No, we cannot intrude on their honeymoons. No one needs their in-laws around at a time like that.” She blew her nose. “No one needs me at all.”

  “Ah, Bess, I need you. You are the stuff that holds my world together, don’t you know?”

  “What, am I glue, then? You always did have a way with words, my dear.” At least she smiled. “No, let the children enjoy themselves. Besides, I know how you hate to travel, Bradford.”

  “But I hate more to see you unhappy, my love. We could stay in a hotel of our own, see the sights by ourselves. Like another honeymoon for us, don’t you know. Then we can bring Merry and Max back with us, help them get settled in their new place. I have plans for that young man, Bess, if he learns as quickly as I think he will. I’m hoping he’ll take over running this place in a few years, and oversee Rendell’s property for him a
s well. Maybe Evan’s, if the lad doesn’t get home soon. It will be a good life for them, just what Merry will enjoy the most, and she’ll be close by, too.”

  Bess heeded only one sentence. “You manage Winterpark, Bradford, and always shall.”

  “Not forever, my dear. I’m already relying more and more on bailiffs and agents. That’s not like one of the family. I have to prepare for the future, my love, for your future.”

  “Oliver will own Winterpark, Bradford,” she noted with a lack of enthusiasm. “He’ll pick his own estate managers and advisers.”

  “That’s another reason we should go to Vienna. Do you realize that not one letter from the girls mentions Oliver? I’d like to know what he’s up to. No, my love, I shall not leave you to Oliver’s mercy. Can you see Aubergine Willenborg taking on your duties as mistress here, visiting the sick, keeping the still room, administering the village school?”

  “Well, I shan’t stay to see it, Bradford. I’ll get a cottage of my own and travel from daughter to daughter, visiting my grandchildren.”

  “As Oliver’s pensioner, like that Almira Krupp female?”

  “What, my lord, do you not intend to leave me better provided for than that? Shall I be saving my pin money?” Bess knew her husband was the most generous of men. “Perhaps I’d better start lining my pockets from the household accounts.”

  “You know you’ll never want for anything as long as I live, dearest, or after I’m gone.”

  “Don’t speak that way, Bradford. I don’t care how wealthy I am as a widow.”

  “I have to speak of it, Bess, because you’ll still have to deal with Oliver. He’ll go through his wife’s money in no time. Then he’ll destroy everything we’ve built, our family’s heritage. You know he cares nothing for the land. Not even Merry and Max can protect Winterpark when I am gone.”

  Now it was the countess’s turn to offer solace. “There is no other option, my dear, so stop fretting. I cannot be happy with the thought of Aubergine standing as chatelaine in my place, but I shan’t be happy without you, no matter what or where. Oliver cannot keep the dower house from me, so I’ll be here to make sure he doesn’t pillage the estate. I owe you that, for not bearing you a son.”